


Wounds

by aschicca



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, M/M, References to Spanking, alternate POV, post-513
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 16:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aschicca/pseuds/aschicca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another post-513 reunion fic. But this time there’s a knife involved…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wounds

Entering the diner that Friday morning, I easily spot Michael sitting in one of the booths and make my way towards him. 

“Hey, Brian!” Michael greets me with a smile on his face, and I try to smile back. Smiling is not something I do often lately, and I have a feeling there won’t be many smiles in the future either. 

“Hey, Mikey,” I reply after sitting down. “Where’s the Professor at this fine morning?”

“He had an early class,” Michael replies.

I nod and raise my empty mug towards Debbie, who rolls her eyes and snaps her gum at me. “I sure hope coffee’s not the only thing you’re planning to have for breakfast,” she tells me with a glare, after filling my mug.

“I can’t stay long, Deb,” I reply, hoping to avoid one of her sermons. “I have a plane to catch.”

“Oh, so you’re going?” Michael asks me.

“Of course he is!” Debbie yells before I can speak. “Sunshine has worked very hard for this solo show, the least the asshole can do is show up on opening night to congratulate him!”

Yeah, Debbie’s little Sunshine has worked hard. Life in the Big Apple is keeping Justin busy, and I can’t help but thinking he’ll soon be too busy to call or come visit. Not that he does either of those things too often now, either. And the first person who tells me _I_ could be the one to call or go visit _him_ is getting his ass kicked.

Realizing Michael and Debbie are looking at me waiting for some kind of answer, I simply smirk and raise my eyebrow. Debbie shakes her head and stomps away, and I’m left staring at Mikey’s worried eyes. Shit.

“Brian,” Michael starts saying, and I know I have to interrupt him before he tries to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.

“Listen, Mikey,” I tell him in my ‘don’t ask, I won’t tell’ voice, “I really have to go now. My flight leaves in few hours, and I still have things to do.” I drink the rest of my coffee, lean on the table to kiss Michael goodbye, and leave. I have a plane to catch and, most likely, a partner to lose.

Right outside the diner, I bump into some street kid. He murmurs that he’s sorry and I nod in his direction. I start walking but I can feel steps behind me, and, turning around slightly, I spot the kid following me. I decide to ignore him, I’m good at that. I ignore things, signals, _pains_ hoping they’ll go away. 

I’m walking down the alley behind the diner when suddenly a hand grabs my arm. I spin around and I find myself staring right into the street kid’s face. 

“Listen,” I tell him, not even trying to mask my exasperation, “I don’t know what you want, but I don’t have time for this. Fuck off.”

And then I see the knife.

*** 

I’m standing outside the gallery that is hosting my first solo show. I should be smiling, I should be happy, ecstatic, and I am. I am. Only… I can’t stop thinking that somehow, during the months spent working towards this show, I lost something else. This is my dream, what I want from life: be successful with my art. And I want to show everyone, _Brian_ , how successful I am. I want him to be proud of me, I want to watch his smiling face and know that I am the one who put that smile there. 

The only problem is… Brian is not here. I know, deep down I know, that he’s convinced himself we’re over. Of course the thought that I needed to put all my energy in my art has never crossed his mind. No. Brian is thinking I don’t have the time, or the will, to call him; never mind that he could call me any time he wants, day or night. He believes that I don’t care enough about him to go visit him more often, and to hell with the fact that, in the year and half I’ve lived in New York, I went home six times, and he came here only once!

And tonight, _my_ night, here I am, alone, outside the gallery, because I was stupid enough to want to wait here for him. Because I wanted us to go inside together. Because I believed that, even if he thought we might be over, he’d still come here tonight. I shake my head and let out a bitter laugh. 

_Fuck you, Brian_. I give up waiting for him and enter the gallery. 

*

The show is over, and I was a fucking success. I sold every single one of my pieces, and got offers from other galleries interested in showing my work. I made it. And all I could do the whole night was stare at the damned door hoping to see Brian’s figure appear.

He never came.

As soon as I enter my apartment, my cell phone starts to ring and I fish it out of my pocket. The caller ID says ‘Michael’ and I have no intention of listening to whatever justification he’s about to give me concerning Brian’s absence. I don’t want to hear it.

I abandon the phone on the bedside table, undress, and throw myself inside the shower. I let the water pour over my head until it gets cold. 

Wearing my bathrobe and toweling my hair, I make my way back to the bedroom and find that my phone is still ringing. I reach for it, but it stops before I can answer. I shrug and am about to put it back down, when I realize I have fourteen missed calls. Puzzled, and a little amused by Michael’s persistence, I check the calling list and realize that Michael is not the only one who’s tried to reach me. Debbie, Lindsay and Ted have also called, and more than once. 

What the fuck? I’m suddenly very cold, and I know that the fact that I’m naked and still wet under the bathrobe has nothing to do with it. Why are they calling me? Why isn’t Brian?

“Oh, please, God…” I hear my own voice, and it sounds so foreign to my ears.

The phone in my hand starts ringing again, and I answer it immediately. “Hello?”

“Justin! Finally!” Ted’s voice sounds tired and worried, and I’m not sure I’m ready to ask him what’s wrong. “Justin, can you hear me?”

“Yes,” I whisper, and then my whole world shatters with Ted’s next words.

“Justin… it’s Brian.”

_Oh, God. Oh, dear God. No, please don’t tell me… please…_

“Justin?” Ted is still talking, and I realize I need to answer him and focus on his words.

“I’m here, Ted. What… what happened?”

The words ‘stabbed’, ‘blood loss’, and ‘intensive care’ reach my ears and pierce my brain. Ted is explaining the dynamic of the robbery, but there’s something else I need to know now, so I interrupt him. “Is he… will he… be all right?”

“He was touch and go for a while, but yes, Justin. He’s expected to make a full recovery.”

My knees give out and I’m glad that my bed is right beside me. I sit down and try to breathe. Ted is still talking but there’s nothing more he can tell me on the phone. I know all I needed to know, and now there’s only one last thing I have to tell him before hanging up. 

“I’ll be on the next flight.”

*** 

My head hurts, and my mouth feels like I swallowed cotton. What the fuck? Where am I?

My eyes flutter open and, for a moment, I can’t see a damn thing. Everything’s too fucking white. Finally, I am able to focus on something and I realize I’m lying in a hospital bed. Is it the cancer? Is it back? My mind freezes over the possibility of someone taking away my other ball, too, and my hand instinctively moves down to check.

The movement makes me yelp, and an almost unbearable pain shots through my right side. And I remember.

_“Give me your wallet.”_

_“Listen, kid, calm down, okay?”_

_“Give me your fucking wallet, or I’ll kill you!”_

_“Okay, okay, wait…”_

_“Hurry up!”_

_“Here, take it.”_

_“Now, your phone. Hurry!”_

_“Yeah… okay…”_

_“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”_

_“You told me to give you my fucking phone, I’m just trying to take it out of my pocket! Hey… no… wait! **No!** ”_

_And then nothing._

“Doctor Sanders, Mr. Kinney is awake,” someone says, and I turn my head to look at the nurse.

“Mr. Kinney?” A blond man asks me.

“Yeah.”

“Glad to see you awake, Mr. Kinney. Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital,” I reply, catching myself just in time before saying ‘Hell.’

“Yes, and do you know what’s happened to you?”

Someone used me as a pin cushion. “Yeah, I was stabbed.”

The doctor nods, and then proceeds to explain all my injuries – thank to Christ they’re not many, and I still have my one ball – and tells me I’m in Intensive Care, but now that I’m awake I’ll soon be transferred to a normal room. No chance of going home soon, then. Fucking great. 

The doctor orders a nurse to give me something to sleep and, soon after feeling the needle inside my arm, I close my eyes and forget all about hospitals for a long while.

*

When I open my eyes again, I’m in a different room. Apparently they transferred me while I was still sleeping. Thank fuck for small mercies.

I let my eyes roam over the room, and they land on a man sleeping in the chair beside my bed. Justin.

I hold out my hand to touch him, but a shot of pain stops me and I moan. Waking up Justin.

“Hey,” he says, sleepy eyes looking at me. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” I answer him, and I know he can tell I’m lying but he chooses not to call me on my bullshit. Suddenly a thought sparks in my mind. “Justin, what day is this?”

“Monday,” Justin tells me. “You’ve been in ICU for a whole weekend.”

Monday? I missed an entire weekend? Fuck! I had things to do! Things like… oh, shit. “Your show… I missed your show…”

A pained expression twists Justin’s features, and guilt adds itself to the long list of unpleasant things I’m feeling at the moment. 

“Don’t even think about it, Brian, please. Don’t.” Justin says, eyes filling with tears.

“Hold the waterworks, Sunshine,” I automatically tell him, and I’m rewarded with a short laugh and a bright smile. I smile back, and then sigh when he leans over me and places his forehead against mine.

We breathe together for a while, and I feel something inside me click into place. For the first time since he left for New York, I relax, and I wish I had it in me to ask him to stay. I can’t do that, he is making a life for himself in the City and I’ll be damned if I’ll hold him back. I’m too damn proud of him to do that. He’s here now, and that has to be enough.

“Are you thirsty, Brian?” Justin asks me.

I find out that I am so I nod at him, and he sits up and reaches for the bottle of water on my bedside table. 

“Go slow, okay? Take small sips,” Justin instructs me, and I fight down the urge to call him Doctor Taylor, and make sarcastic remarks to where I’d like him to stick his thermometer. 

I drink down the water, and he takes away the glass. My hand is in his, and I’m trying to remember why exactly we can’t do more than hold hands, when the door of my room opens and a flock of people swarm inside, apparently having decided to challenge each other to the ‘let’s see who can yell Brian’s name louder’ game.

Debbie wins, predictably, and her prize is obviously the right to speak first. “You scared the shit out of us, Brian!” She says, leaning down to kiss my forehead.

“Sorry, Deb, next time I’ll try to get stabbed in secret.”

“Asshole!” She yells, patting me gently on the cheek. 

“Brian, are you okay?” Michael’s worried face enters my field of vision, and I nod at him with what, I hope, is a reassuring expression and not a ‘leave me the fuck alone’ one. Okay, so I’m not thrilled to have visitors when I’m lying helpless in a hospital bed, wearing a green gown that leaves my ass hanging out. What are you going to do, stab me for it? Take a fucking number.

One by one, everyone leans over my bed and asks me how I am, and after a while I just know I won’t be able to suppress the urge to scream. Finally, though, the only face I am actually happy to see, except, of course, for Justin’s, appears beside me.

“Hey, Gus. How are you, Sonnyboy?”

“Daddy! I was worried! They didn’t want to let me visit when you were in the other room. I don’t like the other room,” Gus says solemnly.

“I don’t either, Gus, and that’s why I told them to put me in this one.” I tell him, smiling.

Gus grins back and takes my hand in his little one, and only then I realize that Justin had never let go my other hand during the whole ‘family visit’ ordeal. This is the first time I have them both back with me since the day they left me. 

The fucking doctors must have pumped me with more meds than I was aware of, because suddenly I can feel my eyes tear up and I shut them firmly to hold the tears in. 

Justin must have seen them, though, because I hear his resolute voice telling everyone that I need to rest and they have to go. They bid me goodbye, but I don’t open my eyes until I feel lips against my cheek and a voice whispering, “I’ll tell Mommy to take me back soon, Daddy, don’t worry.” I look at my son and smile at him, squeezing his hand one last time before Lindsay takes him away.

Peace and quiet fill the room, and I look at Justin. He kisses me softly on the lips and tells me to go to sleep. 

“I’ll be here,” he says, and that’s enough to lull me into a dreamless sleep.

*** 

It’s been a week since Brian came home, and we’re still doing our best to ignore the elephant in the room. When am I going back to New York? For some reason, I stubbornly refuse to be the first to address it. I want Brian to ask me about it, and only then I’m going to tell him that I’m not going back. That I’m staying with him.

That had been the plan all along, after all. Well, it had been _my_ plan at least. Go to New York to try to make a name for myself, then come back to work from Pittsburgh. After all, my next showing could be in Los Angeles, or Boston, or maybe even Rome and what am I going to do? Go live in every city my work is shown in? Pittsburgh can be my homebase, and I can travel. Maybe Brian could even come with me… 

Brian is sitting at the table discussing with Cynthia and Ted about the advertising campaign for their newest client. I explicitly forbade Brian to go into the office for at least another couple of days, and he had summoned his employees in the loft to show me that he could well work from home, and I could go fuck myself. His victorious expression still makes me laugh. I don’t care if he works, I just want to be close by in case he gets too tired.

He doesn’t look tired, yet, so I stop looking at him and go sit at his desk to check my email.

*

Later that day, after Ted and Cynthia are long gone, and after I convince Brian to lie down for a while with the promise of a blowjob, I find myself sitting on the sofa thinking I’ll cave and be the first to talk about our future living accomodations. 

A noise coming from the bathroom distracts me, and I go see what’s happening. I stop in the bedroom and look at Brian, who’s standing naked in front of the bathroom mirror, checking on the stab wound. The injury in his right side it’s an angry red line and, despite the fact that I spent quite a lot of time kissing it the past few nights – and silently thanking whatever God had protected Brian, - I have to admit it’s not a great sight. The doctor assured Brian that, with time, only a faint line would be visible, but I know he won’t believe it until he sees it. And right now, I can tell he doesn’t like what he sees.

“You’re still the hottest guy in the room, Brian,” I tell him, grinning.

He snorts. “I’m the only guy in the room.”

“Oh, yeah, there’s that…” I wink at him, and he laughs.

“Little shit,” he says, and I can clearly hear the affection behind the insult.

I enter the bathroom, hugging Brian from behind, and my hand grabs his half hard cock. “Really, I can assure you that no one would notice that,” I nod in direction of the wound, “because they’ll be too busy looking at this,” I finish squeezing his cock.

I hear Brian gasp, and he leans back on my chest. I start stroking him slowly. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I lick his neck. Soon I feel Brian starting to move his hips, urging me to quicken my pace, but I have no intention of doing that. Instead, I release his cock, giggling at his disappointed groan, and make him turn around.

As soon as Brian turns to face me, I drop to my knees and take his cock all the way down to my throat. 

“Fuck, Justin,” Brian moans, and I smile up at him with my eyes.

My head bobbing up and down, my hands grabbing his asscheeks to guide the movements of his hips, I suck Brian’s cock like my own life depends on it, and soon I can feel his orgasm filling my mouth. My own cock is so hard and I’m so near the edge, that all it takes for me to follow Brian’s orgasm is a quick squeeze through my pants.

Brian pulls me up and kisses me thoroughly, then he undresses me and we take a long shower together.

An hour later, once we’re both dressed and I’ve force-fed Brian the meatloaf I’d cooked when he was asleep, the phone rings, and Brian goes to answer it.

“Yeah… what? Mikey, shit, calm the fuck down!” I hear Brian say and I go stand beside him hoping to catch Michael’s side of the conversation. “Say that again… oh… fuck… yeah, fine. I’ll be there tomorrow. Yes, Justin is here… no, Mikey… why would you… fine, fuck!” Brian glares at me, handing me the phone, and then walks away from me.

I’m getting worried, now. “Hey, Michael,” I say into the phone, “What’s up?”

“Justin, they caught the guy who robbed and stabbed Brian! Carl says he was living in a homeless shelter and he still had the knife with him when they arrested him.”

“That’s great news, Michael. Does Brian need to come to the station to give his testimony?”

“Yes,” Michael answers me, “He’ll have to be there tomorrow morning.”

“Okay, we’ll be there,” I say, wondering why Brian seemed so pissed that Michael wanted to talk to me about the arrest.

“Justin?” Michael is still talking.

“Yeah?”

“Carl said… well, he said that they didn’t know they were arresting Brian’s attacker at first. They were there because… uh… that kid killed a man the other night. Stabbed him right in the heart. They realized who he was only after they found Brian’s wallet among the other things that guy had stolen.” 

Killed? That guy had _killed_ a man? _Stabbed him right in the heart_ , Michael had said. I shut my eyes to block out the image of Brian laying down a street with a stab wound to the heart. We’d been so lucky… so fucking lucky…

I realize I’m still holding the phone in my hand, and that Michael is still waiting for me to say something, so I thank him for calling and hung up. Turning around, I see Brian staring at me and I basically run towards him and hug him so tight I’m sure both of us will have bruises tomorrow. I don’t give a shit, either.

Brian at first refuses to return the hug, but then I can feel his arms around me and he holds me just as tight. We stay like that for ages, and then I raise my head and kiss him.

“Brian?” I say when our lips part.

“Yeah.”

“I’m coming home.” There, I said it, and there’s no turning back now.

Brian’s face closes off and he releases me. “The fuck you are,” he says, and turns away from me.

“Yes, I am, and there’s nothing you can say that will make me change my mind!”

He faces me again, and asks in a sneering voice, “How about I don’t want you to?”

“You’re a fucking liar,” I tell him, trying not to give in to the urge to yell and kick his ass. Brian just shrugs. I close the distance between us and grab his face in my hands. “Why the fuck does everything have to be so damn difficult with you? I tell you I’m coming home, which I know is what both of us really want, and you pick a fight? Lie to me?”

Brian slaps my hands away, his eyes shooting daggers at me, and replies, “You think I’m stupid? You think I don’t know what you’re doing? You just found out that a man was killed with the same knife that wounded me, and now all you think about is taking care of poor Brian, who could have died! I’m not dead, ok? I’m fucking fine and I don’t need a damn keeper!”

I gape at him. Sometimes, I swear I would rather bang my head, or better _Brian’s_ , against a wall than having these conversations. “What the fuck are you talking about? Yes, of course I’m thinking that the one killed could have been you, Brian! Fuck, I know perfectly well it’s the same thing _you_ are thinking! But what the hell does this have to do with me wanting to come home? I don’t want to be your keeper, Brian, I just want to be with you!”

“You have to admit that it’s a weird coincidence. I get stabbed and suddenly you decide you want to be with me,” Brian said.

“Suddenly? There’s nothing sudden about it, Brian! I’ve wanted to be with you since I was seventeen! Why do I always have to convince you that you’re what I want?” I’m shouting so loud I think everyone in Pittsburgh is able to hear me. 

Trying to calm down, I take a deep breath, and, as soon as I think I will be able to speak without having a red face, with my eyes bulging out and my throat sore, I start again. “Brian, I am still in shock over what happened, and yes, after Michael told me that another man had died, the only thing I wanted was to hold you and make sure you were all right. I’m not denying it, you see, I’m just saying that this is not the reason why I want to come home. Don’t you see it? Fuck, okay, maybe my timing is shitty, but I wanted to talk with you about me leaving New York for a week, now!” I look into Brian’s eyes willing him to believe me.

He stares back, and then he sighs. “Look, Justin, I get it, okay? This whole situation has been stressful and fucked up, but you can’t just leave the opportunity of a lifetime. New York is where you need to be to become the great, fucking success you deserve to be. It’s what you’ve always wanted, remember?”

I shake my head before replying, “Why do we always end up talking about what I want, Brian? What about what _you_ want?”

“What about that?”

Rolling my eyes, I barely resist the wish to punch him in the stomach, and ask, “What do you want, Brian?” I can see he’s starting to close up on me and I have no intention of allowing him to. I grab his arm, and repeat, “Brian?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want,” he says, and this time, I do hit him. Lightly. On the arm. But still... “Ow, little shit! I’m the injured one here!” Brian says outraged, and I laugh.

“Then stop talking shit and answer my fucking question or I’m hitting you again! What do you want?” I know he’s not going to reply, no matter how much I keep pushing, but I still look at him expectantly, waiting to hear what he will say.

Brian lowers his eyes and shakes his head, and I start trying to find another way to make this conversation go where I want, when he surprises me by saying, “I told you that a long time ago. It hasn’t changed.”

I can feel my eyes open wide and I just stare at him, his voice suddenly bursting into my ears like I’m just hearing those words: _“And when I come home, I’ll also be doing exactly what I want to do. Coming home to you.”_ Shit…

I take a deep breath, and tell him, “And can’t you believe it’s the same for me, Brian?”

“You need to be in New York, you need to be…” I interrupt him before he can go over and over again on the same point.

“I needed to be in New York, Brian, past tense. I needed to be there to make my name known in the art world. I’ve done that. I have contacts, I have an agent, I have offers for shows. I don’t need to be there anymore. I am a fucking success.” I say all that with no inflection in my voice. I don’t want to gloat or brag, I just want to make him understand.

He looks at me, his head tilted to the side, almost as if he’s trying to figure out why he wasn’t aware of the fact that I had reached my goal, then I see it dawning on him. “Your show… the one I missed. It obviously went well, Sunshine? That’s great. I’m sorry I missed it,” he finishes, lowering his eyes again.

“I don’t give a shit about you missing that show. You’ve been at every single one I’ve had until then, and you’ll be there in the future, too. That much I know.” And I do, even if for that one night I wasn’t sure it was still true. I am now. “Brian?” I call out at him, and he looks at me. “I don’t care what you say, I’m coming home and, if you don’t want me here, I’ll rent an apartment in the neighborhood and just stalk you until you’re forced to let me come live here with you,” I finish with one of my trademark smiles.

He laughs, shaking his head, and his eyes sparkle when he says, “I should just let you do that, you little shit.”

“Yeah, but then you’ll have to explain to Debbie why I’m depressed and mooning over you,” I tell him, grinning, and his face clouds in horror.

“Okay, you win, you can come back here. No way I’m going to live with Debbie after my ass!” Brian says, like he expects me to believe that is the only reason why he’s caving.

Laughing, I lean my body over his, raise my head and say, “Yep, isn’t it better when _I_ am the one after your ass?”

I feel him chuckle into my neck, and his arms tighten around me. “You can keep dreaming about that,” he tells me after a while, and I bite his shoulder making him yelp.

He spanks me in retaliation and I let out an exaggeratedly long, dreaming moan that makes Brian’s eyes go dark. He playfully spanks me again, but I know that later tonight he will be anything but playful with my poor little bottom. I’m definitely looking forward to it.

We stay there, kissing and talking nonsense for a long time, and so what if all my things are still in New York? I’m home.


End file.
